Ravished by a Highlander
Book 1:
Children of the Mist
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Synopsis
Forbidden love, undeniable desire…
Davina Montgomery is no ordinary English lady. For her own protection, she’s been locked away from society, her true identity the Crown’s most closely guarded secret. Until a shocking betrayal—and a bold rescue—land her in the arms of a fierce Highlander, a powerful warrior whose searing gaze and tantalizing touch awaken her body and soul.
As the firstborn son of a powerful Scottish laird, Robert MacGregor has no loyalty to the English throne, but he’s not the kind of man to leave a woman in distress, even if she is English. He vows to deliver Davina to safety, unharmed and untouched.
Yet one stolen kiss leaves them both smoldering with desire and desperate for more. With Davina’s secret threatening to destroy his clan, Rob must choose between everything he holds dear and the one woman he can’t live without.
A Blackstone Audio production.
Release date: May 1, 2010
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 368
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
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Ravished by a Highlander
Paula Quinn
A HIGHLANDER NEVER SURRENDERS
“Five stars! Paula Quinn is a master storyteller and her gifted skill stands out in each enchanting scene of this breathtaking
story…. Graham and Claire are a couple about whom I came to care deeply. As for the suspenseful action and secretive mysteries
in the story, Ms. Quinn is unparalleled when it comes to keeping the reader riveted…. A Highlander Never Surrenders is an innovative and unforgettable love story which will fill your dreams and touch your heart.”
—
SingleTitles.com
“Sparks fly between Claire and Graham…. The love scenes are hot and romantic…. I also liked the historical quality of the book;
the author did a fine job of providing different viewpoints of the Scottish situation.”
—
LikesBooks.com
“Ooh, if ever a man met his match it’s in A Highlander Never Surrenders…. The author does a fabulous job of making history come alive…. With plenty of humor, romance, and characters you can’t help
but fall in love with, this charming story is sure to please and leave you sighing for more. Get your copy of A Highlander Never Surrenders and fall in love with history and romance all over again.”
—
RomRevToday.com
“I enjoyed Paula Quinn’s Highlanders in this story…. Claire is a proud, stubborn warrior princess… Robert believes in the cause
that he’s fighting for, and it’s admirable to see the honor within him because I really enjoyed his character…. Graham is
a great hero and a delicious one at that… everything he stood for—brotherhood and honor—made me love him all the more.”
—
TheBookBinge.com
“A sexy romance. Passionate emotions abound as historical politics, honor, betrayals, and irresistible love draw unlikely forces
together…. Paula Quinn makes history and romance come alive as passions both personal and political collide, setting hearts
ablaze… inspires late night reading!”
—
MerrimonBookReviews.com
“5 Stars! [A] gripping tale of seventeenth-century romance. Paula Quinn has done awesome research…. Graham is the quintessential
Highland hero, lusty, strong, and with a strong sense of honor and justice…. With this story’s strong plot, wonderful repartee,
and well-developed characters, this is truly a book that will captivate you and one you won’t want to put down! Definitely
a top pick and I look forward to more great reads from this very talented writer!”
—
FreshFiction.com
“I love the characters! At some points of the book, I couldn’t help but laugh, while at others I was on the edge of my seat,
wondering how on earth they were going to get out of such a predicament!… Overall, a great read.”
—
ArmchairInterviews.com
“Fast-paced… A great story, full of romance and adventure. Claire is a regular Amazon of a heroine, equal to or better than
most men in battle, and beautiful to boot. Graham is pretty near irresistible.”
—
CoffeeTimeRomance.com
LAIRD OF THE MIST
“4½ Stars! TOP PICK! Quinn captures the aura of the Highlands brilliantly, delivering a tale rife with Scottish lore and infamous
feuds. She combines passion, history, danger, and intrigue to perfection.”
—RT Book Reviews
“The romance is special, the characters are terrific, and there is plenty of action and suspense. Paula Quinn outdoes herself
this time. Bravo!”
—
RomanceReviewsMag.com
“The Highlands of Scotland come alive in Laird of the Mist…. Paula Quinn knows exactly how to capture the imagination of her readers by giving them memorable characters and enthralling
plots.”
—
SingleTitles.com
LORD OF SEDUCTION
“Quinn is an author to watch.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“4 Stars! Readers will fly through the pages and wiggle in their seats…. Feast on this medieval banquet!”
—RT Book Reviews
“Passion, peril, and plenty of medieval political intrigue… expertly crafted historical romance.”
—Booklist
LORD OF TEMPTATION
“Features a sinfully sexy hero who meets his match in a strong-willed heroine…. An excellent choice for readers who like powerful,
passion-rich medieval romances.”
—Booklist
“Quinn’s lively romance… offers two spirited protagonists as well as engaging minor characters…. The sharp repartee and dramatic
finale make this a pleasant read.”
—Publishers Weekly
LORD OF DESIRE
“4 Stars!… fast-paced and brimming with biting, sexy repartee, and a sensual cat-and-mouse game.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Gloriously passionate… boldly sensual… Quinn deftly enhances her debut with just enough historical details to give a vivid
sense of time and place.”
—Booklist
“An emotional and compelling story that brings together a strong but wounded hero and spirited and determined heroine. The
characters quickly immerse the reader into their lives.”
—
RomanceJunkies.com
SOUTHERN SCOTTISH BORDERSPRING 1685
High atop Saint Christopher’s Abbey, Davina Montgomery stood alone in the bell tower, cloaked in the silence of a world she
did not know. Darkness had fallen hours ago and below her the sisters slept peacefully in their beds, thanks to the men who
had been sent here to guard them. But there was little peace for Davina. The vast, indigo sky filling her vision was littered
with stars that seemed close enough to touch should she reach out her hand. What would she wish for? Her haunted gaze slipped
southward toward England, and then with a longing just as powerful, toward the moonlit mountain peaks of the north. Which
life would she choose if the choice were hers to make? A world where she’d been forgotten, or one where no one knew her? She
smiled sadly against the wind that whipped her woolen novice robes around her. What good was it to ponder when her future
had already been decreed? She knew what was to come. There were no variations. That is, if she lived beyond the next year.
She looked away from the place she could never go and the person she could never be.
She heard the soft fall of footsteps behind her but did not turn. She knew who it was.
“Poor Edward. I imagine your heart must have failed you when you did not find me in my bed.”
When he remained quiet she felt sorry for teasing him about the seriousness of his duty. Captain Edward Asher had been sent
here to protect her four years ago, after Captain Geoffries had taken ill and was relieved of his command. Edward had become
more than her guardian. He was her dearest friend, someone she could confide in here within the thick walls that sheltered
her from the schemes of her enemies. Edward knew her fears and accepted her faults.
“I knew where to find you,” he finally said, his voice just above a whisper.
He always did know. Not that there were many places to look. Davina was not allowed to venture outside the Abbey gates so
she came to the bell tower often to let her thoughts roam free.
“My lady—”
She turned at his soft call, putting away her dreams and desires behind a tender smile. Those she kept to herself and did
not share, even with him.
“Please, I…” he began, meeting her gaze and then stumbling through the rest as if the face he looked upon every day still
struck him as hard as it had the first time he’d seen her. He was in love with her, and though he’d never spoken his heart
openly, he did not conceal how he felt. Everything was there in his eyes, his deeds, his devotion; and a deep regret that
Davina suspected had more to do with her than he would ever have the boldness to admit. Her path had been charted for another
course and she could never be his. “Lady Montgomery, come away from here, I beg you. It is not good to be alone.”
He worried for her so and she wished he wouldn’t. “I’m not alone, Edward,” she reassured. If her life remained as it was now,
she would find a way to be happy. She always did. “I have been given much.”
“It’s true,” he agreed, moving closer to her and then stopping himself, knowing what she knew. “You have been taught to fear
the Lord and love your king. The sisters love you, as do my men. It will always be so. We are your family. But it is not enough.”
He knew she would never admit it, so he said it for her.
It had to be enough. It was safer this way, cloistered away from those who would harm her if ever they discovered her after
the appointed time.
That time had come.
Davina knew that Edward would do anything to save her. He told her often, each time he warned her of her peril. Diligently,
he taught her to trust no one, not even those who claimed to love her. His lessons often left her feeling a bit hopeless,
though she never told him that, either.
“Would that I could slay your enemies,” he swore to her now, “and your fears along with them.”
He meant to comfort her, but good heavens, she didn’t want to discuss the future on such a breathtaking night. “Thanks to
you and God,” she said, leaving the wall to go to him and tossing him a playful smile, “I can slay them myself.”
“I agree,” he surrendered, his good mood restored by the time she reached him. “You’ve learned your lessons in defense well.”
She rested her hand on his arm and gave it a soft pat. “How could I disappoint you when you risked the Abbess’s consternation
to teach me?”
He laughed with her, both of them comfortable in their familiarity. But too soon he grew serious again.
“James is to be crowned in less than a se’nnight.”
“I know.” Davina nodded and turned toward England again. She refused to let her fears control her. “Mayhap,” she said with
a bit of defiance sparking her doleful gaze, “we should attend the coronation, Edward. Who would think to look for me at Westminster?”
“My lady…” He reached for her. “We cannot. You know—”
“I jest, dear friend.” She angled her head to speak to him over her shoulder, carefully cloaking the struggle that weighed
heaviest upon her heart, a struggle that had nothing to do with fear. “Really, Edward, must we speak of this?”
“Yes, I think we should,” he answered earnestly, then went on swiftly, before she could argue, “I’ve asked the Abbess if we
can move you to Courlochcraig Abbey in Ayr. I’ve already sent word to—”
“Absolutely not,” she stopped him. “I will not leave my home. Besides, we have no reason to believe that my enemies know of
me at all.”
“Just for a year or two. Until we’re certain—”
“No,” she told him again, this time turning to face him fully. “Edward, would you have us leave the sisters here alone to
face our enemies should they come seeking me? What defense would they have without the strong arms of you and your men? They
will not leave St. Christopher’s, nor will I.”
He sighed and shook his head at her. “I cannot argue when you prove yourself more courageous than I. I pray I do not live
to regret it. Very well, then.” The lines of his handsome face relaxed. “I shall do as you ask. For now though,” he added,
offering her his arm, “allow me to escort you to your chamber. The hour is late and the Reverend Mother will show you no mercy
when the cock crows.”
Davina rested one hand in the crook of his arm and waved away his concern with the other. “I don’t mind waking with the sun.”
“Why would you,” he replied, his voice as light now as hers as he led her out of the belfry, “when you can just fall back
to sleep in the Study Hall.”
“It was only the one time that I actually slept,” she defended, slapping his arm softly. “And don’t you have more important
things to do with your day than follow me around?”
“Three times,” he corrected, ignoring the frown he knew was false. “Once, you even snored.”
Her eyes, as they descended the stairs, were as wide as her mouth. “I have never snored in my life!”
“Save for that one time, then?”
She looked about to deny his charge again, but bit her curling lip instead. “And once during Sister Bernadette’s piano recital.
I had penance for a week. Do you remember?”
“How could I forget?” he laughed. “My men did no chores the entire time, preferring to listen at your door while you spoke
aloud to God about everything but your transgression.”
“God already knew why I fell asleep,” she explained, smiling at his grin. “I did not wish to speak poorly of Sister Bernadette’s
talent, or lack of it, even in my own defense.”
His laughter faded, leaving only a smile that looked to be painful as their walk ended and they stood at her door. When he
reached out to take her hand, Davina did her best not to let the surprise in her eyes dissuade him from touching her. “Forgive
my boldness, but there is something I must tell you. Something I should have told you long ago.”
“Of course, Edward,” she said softly, keeping her hand in his. “You know you may always speak freely to me.”
“First, I would have you know that you have come to mean—”
“Captain!”
Davina leaned over the stairwell to see Harry Barns, Edward’s second in command, plunge through the Abbey doors. “Captain!”
Harry shouted up at them, his face pale and his breath heavy from running. “They are coming!”
For one paralyzing moment, Davina doubted the good of her ears. She’d been warned of this day for four years, but had always
prayed it would not come. “Edward,” she asked hollowly, on the verge of sheer panic, “how did they find us so soon after King
Charles’s death?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth as if he too refused to believe what he was hearing. But there
was no time for doubt. Spinning on his heel, he gripped her arm and hauled her into her room. “Stay here! Lock your door!”
“What good will that do us?” She sprang for her quiver and bow and headed back to the door, and to Edward blocking it. “Please,
dear friend. I do not want to cower alone in my room. I will fire from the bell tower until it is no longer safe to do so.”
“Captain!” Barns raced up the stairs, taking three at a time. “We need to prepare. Now!”
“Edward”—Davina’s voice pulled him back to her—“you trained me for this. We need every arm available. You will not stop me
from fighting for my home.”
“Orders, Captain, please!”
Davina looked back once as she raced toward the narrow steps leading back to the tower.
“Harry!” She heard Edward shout behind her. “Prepare the vats and boil the tar. I want every man alert and ready at my command.
And Harry…”
“Captain?”
“Wake the sisters and tell them to pray.”
In the early morning hours that passed after the massacre at St. Christopher’s, Edward’s men had managed to kill half of the
enemy’s army. But the Abbey’s losses were greater. Far greater.
Alone in the bell tower, Davina stared down at the bodies strewn across the large courtyard. The stench of burning tar and
seared flesh stung her nostrils and burned her eyes as she set them beyond the gates to the meadow where men on horseback
still hacked away at each other as if their hatred could never be satisfied. But there was no hatred. They fought because
of her, though none of them knew her. But she knew them. Her dreams had been plagued with her faceless assassins since the
day Edward had first told her of them.
Tears brought on by the pungent air slipped down her cheeks, falling far below to where her friends… her family lay dead or
dying. Dragging her palm across her eyes, she searched the bodies for Edward. He’d returned to her an hour after the fighting
had begun and ordered her into the chapel with the sisters. When she’d refused, he’d tossed her over his shoulder like a sack
of grain and brought her there himself. But she did not remain hidden. She couldn’t, so she’d returned to the tower and her
bow and sent more than a dozen of her enemies to meet their Maker. But there were too many—or mayhap God didn’t want the rest,
for they slew the men she ate with, laughed with, before her eyes.
She had feared this day for so long that it had become a part of her. She thought she had prepared. At least, for her own
death. But not for the Abbess’s. Not for Edward’s. How could anyone prepare to lose those they loved?
Despair ravaged her and for a moment she considered stepping over the wall. If she was dead they would stop. But she had prayed
for courage too many times to let God or Edward down now. Reaching into the quiver on her back, she plucked out an arrow,
cocked her bow, and closed one eye to aim.
Below her and out of her line of vision, a soldier garbed in military regalia not belonging to England crept along the chapel
wall with a torch clutched in one fist and a sword in the other.
A cool breeze, moist with the fallen rain, lifted a raven curl from Robert MacGregor’s forehead. Looking up, he glared at the
pewter clouds as if daring the heavens to open again. ’Twas bad enough he and his kin had to leave Camlochlin during a storm
that promised to tear auld Tamas MacKinnon’s roof off his bothy. Trekking across Scotland in the mud did not make the journey
any easier.
Rob was still unsure if he agreed with his father’s reasoning for leaving the clan to attend James of York’s coronation. What
did laws made by stately nobles, dressed in powdered wigs and ruffled collars, have to do with MacGregors? Only a handful
of them knew of the MacGregors of Skye, and none of them would dare venture into the mountains to enforce their laws, even
if they did. What fealty did his clan owe to an English king?
“Rebellion is not always necessary,” his father’s words invaded his troubled thoughts. “Protectin’ the clan must always come first.”
As firstborn and heir apparent to Callum MacGregor’s title as Clan Chief of the MacGregors of Skye, Rob had been taught to
understand his father’s ways of thinking. He knew that civilly showing their support to the new king was the intelligent thing
to do. For as much as he cared nothing about politics so far south, there were many in Parliament who believed the Highland
ways of life, with a Chief having sole authority over his clan, were outdated and should be abolished. If kissing the king’s
arse would keep his clan safe and intact, then Rob would do it.
He didn’t care if his father was chief or if he was. He’d taken on every responsibility as a leader, and more. He tilled the
land, herded and sheared the sheep, repaired falling rooftops and, more times than not, denied his physical pleasure for hard
work. He made decisions for his kin’s welfare alongside his father and honed his swordplay diligently and by his own choice,
knowing that any weakness of body or will could destroy what belonged to him. And it had been in his blood for generations
never to allow that to happen.
But it still angered him that he should have to leave his clan to kiss the arses of men who would likely shyt in their breeches
on any kind of battlefield.
“Tell me again why ye insisted on takin’ this route, Will?” Rob asked his cousin, and yanked on his reins to steer his mount
away from a muddy trench in his path. They had left their main troupe on a road just before the English border. The detour
was Will’s idea, and Rob was beginning to question why he’d listened to him, or why he’d agreed to let anyone else come with
them.
“St. Christopher’s Abbey,” Will called out over his shoulder. “I told ye, Sister Margaret Mary lives there.”
“Who the hell is Sister Margaret Mary?” Angus MacGregor growled, rubbing the small of his back. “And why does a daughter o’
the Lord interest a black heart like yers?”
“She was m’ nursemaid fer six years after m’ mother died.”
“I think I’ve heard Tristan speak of her,” Colin, Rob’s youngest brother, joined in thoughtfully, managing to steer his mount
around a mossy incline without incident. Rob was torn between being thankful that his brother Tristan hadn’t come with them—mostly
for the sisters of St. Christopher’s sake—and being angry with himself for letting Colin come along. Clearly, Will had no
notion of where the hell the Abbey was. He was leading them deeper into the hills. A band of outlaws could attack them from
almost any direction unseen. Not that Rob fretted overmuch about a fight, or Colin’s ability to come out of one unharmed.
He just preferred that if there was a skirmish of some sort, his youngest brother not be there.
“Do the sisters in England pray as much as the ones in Scotland do?”
“We’re no’ in England yet,” Rob murmured impatiently, glancing at Finlay Grant from over his shoulder. The lad looked stricken
for a moment, as if he had just proven himself lacking in the eyes of his leader. Hell, what would he do with Finn if they
were attacked? The lad could fight well enough, but he’d always shown more interest in playing the pipes and reciting tales
of past heroes than in swordplay. Every laird had a bard, and Finn was determined to become Rob’s. As irritating as it sometimes
was to have the lad always underfoot, watching what he did and what he said in the event that some heroic deed he performed
needed retelling, Rob was fond of Graham and Claire Grant’s youngest son. He was a respectful lad with a curious nature, and
since he wasn’t the source of Rob’s frustration, he should not bear the brunt of it. “And nae,” Rob told him in a milder tone,
“Scottish nuns pray more.”
“I dinna care if her knees have worn straight through her robes,” Angus grumbled, reaching for a pouch of brew hidden in his
plaid. “If she brought Will and Tristan into this world, I have nae desire to be meetin’ her.”
“Hush, Angus.” Rob held up his hand to silence the older warrior. “D’ye hear that?”
His companions remained quiet for a moment, listening. “Sounds like the clash o’ swords,” Angus said, his hand falling immediately
to his hilt. “And that odor—That’s flesh burnin’.”
“The Abbey!” Will’s face went pale as he whirled his mount left and dug his heels into the beast’s flanks. He disappeared
over the crest of a small rise before Rob could stop him.
Swearing an oath that his cousin and closest friend was someday going to get himself and everyone around him killed by rushing
headlong into the unknown, Rob raced forward to follow, warning the younger lads to stay behind.
Rob and Angus stopped just beyond the crest, where Will had also halted his horse and stared with both shock and horror at
the scene before him. When Colin and Finn reached them, Rob swore violently at his brother for disobeying him, but his gaze
was already being pulled back to the small convent nestled within the fold of low hills.
The Abbey was under attack. By the looks of it, the siege had been going on for more than a few hours. Hundreds of dead bodies
littered the ground. Only a handful of what looked to have been two separate armies remained while ribbons of black smoke
plumed the air, the residue of burning tar. The left wing of the structure was completely engulfed in flames.
“Dear God, who would do this?”
Will did not bother answering Finn’s haunted plea, but snatched free his bow and yanked an arrow from his quiver.
“Will, nae!” Rob stopped him. “’Tis no’ our fight. I’ll no’ bring whoever did this doun on our clan! No’ for those who have
already per—”
The remainder of his words was cut short by a searing jolt of pain in his left shoulder and the whistle of two of Will’s arrows
slicing the air in the next instant. Stunned, Rob looked down at the thin shaft of wood jutting out of his flesh. He’d been
hit! Son of a… Fighting a wave of nausea, he closed his fingers around the arrow and broke off the feathered end sticking
out from his plaid. Setting his murderous gaze on the skirmish, he clutched the broken arrow in one fist and dragged his claymore
from its sheath with the other.
“Now, ’tis our fight. Colin,” he growled before he charged his mount forward. “Ye and Finn take cover or I’ll set ye both
on yer arses fer a fortnight.”
Finn nodded dutifully, but Colin grew angry. “Rob, I can fight. I want to fight.”
“No’ today,” Rob warned, his jaw rigid with fury about to be unleashed. This time Colin obeyed.
Rob had fought in raids before. He’d even killed a few Fergussons, but this was the kind of fighting that flowed through his
veins, what he had been trained to do by his father. Protect himself and those in his care at any cost. He didn’t care who’d
shot him. They were all going to pay for it. Reaching the dwindling melee, he brought his sword down with savage satisfaction,
killing swiftly, while Will and Angus fought a few feet away. He was about to strike again when his would-be target screamed
out at him.
“Hold, Scot! Hold for the mercy of God!” For the space of a breath, the man withered in his saddle staring into Rob’s eyes,
and then at the bloody sword above his head. He spoke quickly, gathering what strength of will he had left. “I am Captain
Edward Asher of the King’s Royal army. We were attacked just before dawn. I am not your enemy.”
Rob quickly looked the man over. His dark hair was wet with blood and sweat that dripped over his brow, creating streaks down
his dirty face. His garment was also bloodied, but belonging to the king’s regiment.
His fury at being shot still unabated, Rob began to turn his mount to cut down someone else.
“Wait.” The captain reached for Rob’s arm to stop him. “You are a Highlander. Why are you here? Has someone sent you?”
“Ye ask many questions rather than be grateful that here is where I am.”
“You have my thanks for your aid.”
Rob nodded. “Behind ye.”
Captain Asher spun on his horse and barely managed to avoid a blow to his head that would have killed him.
Taking a moment to assure that no other enemy soldiers were in fighting distance, Rob watched with a look of bland interest
while the captain felled his attacker to the ground.
“I owe you my life,” Asher said, panting.
“Right. Are we done here? There are more comin’.”
Asher’s shoulders sagged heavily as if he’d had enough and knew his fate. He didn’t bo. . .
“Five stars! Paula Quinn is a master storyteller and her gifted skill stands out in each enchanting scene of this breathtaking
story…. Graham and Claire are a couple about whom I came to care deeply. As for the suspenseful action and secretive mysteries
in the story, Ms. Quinn is unparalleled when it comes to keeping the reader riveted…. A Highlander Never Surrenders is an innovative and unforgettable love story which will fill your dreams and touch your heart.”
—
SingleTitles.com
“Sparks fly between Claire and Graham…. The love scenes are hot and romantic…. I also liked the historical quality of the book;
the author did a fine job of providing different viewpoints of the Scottish situation.”
—
LikesBooks.com
“Ooh, if ever a man met his match it’s in A Highlander Never Surrenders…. The author does a fabulous job of making history come alive…. With plenty of humor, romance, and characters you can’t help
but fall in love with, this charming story is sure to please and leave you sighing for more. Get your copy of A Highlander Never Surrenders and fall in love with history and romance all over again.”
—
RomRevToday.com
“I enjoyed Paula Quinn’s Highlanders in this story…. Claire is a proud, stubborn warrior princess… Robert believes in the cause
that he’s fighting for, and it’s admirable to see the honor within him because I really enjoyed his character…. Graham is
a great hero and a delicious one at that… everything he stood for—brotherhood and honor—made me love him all the more.”
—
TheBookBinge.com
“A sexy romance. Passionate emotions abound as historical politics, honor, betrayals, and irresistible love draw unlikely forces
together…. Paula Quinn makes history and romance come alive as passions both personal and political collide, setting hearts
ablaze… inspires late night reading!”
—
MerrimonBookReviews.com
“5 Stars! [A] gripping tale of seventeenth-century romance. Paula Quinn has done awesome research…. Graham is the quintessential
Highland hero, lusty, strong, and with a strong sense of honor and justice…. With this story’s strong plot, wonderful repartee,
and well-developed characters, this is truly a book that will captivate you and one you won’t want to put down! Definitely
a top pick and I look forward to more great reads from this very talented writer!”
—
FreshFiction.com
“I love the characters! At some points of the book, I couldn’t help but laugh, while at others I was on the edge of my seat,
wondering how on earth they were going to get out of such a predicament!… Overall, a great read.”
—
ArmchairInterviews.com
“Fast-paced… A great story, full of romance and adventure. Claire is a regular Amazon of a heroine, equal to or better than
most men in battle, and beautiful to boot. Graham is pretty near irresistible.”
—
CoffeeTimeRomance.com
LAIRD OF THE MIST
“4½ Stars! TOP PICK! Quinn captures the aura of the Highlands brilliantly, delivering a tale rife with Scottish lore and infamous
feuds. She combines passion, history, danger, and intrigue to perfection.”
—RT Book Reviews
“The romance is special, the characters are terrific, and there is plenty of action and suspense. Paula Quinn outdoes herself
this time. Bravo!”
—
RomanceReviewsMag.com
“The Highlands of Scotland come alive in Laird of the Mist…. Paula Quinn knows exactly how to capture the imagination of her readers by giving them memorable characters and enthralling
plots.”
—
SingleTitles.com
LORD OF SEDUCTION
“Quinn is an author to watch.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“4 Stars! Readers will fly through the pages and wiggle in their seats…. Feast on this medieval banquet!”
—RT Book Reviews
“Passion, peril, and plenty of medieval political intrigue… expertly crafted historical romance.”
—Booklist
LORD OF TEMPTATION
“Features a sinfully sexy hero who meets his match in a strong-willed heroine…. An excellent choice for readers who like powerful,
passion-rich medieval romances.”
—Booklist
“Quinn’s lively romance… offers two spirited protagonists as well as engaging minor characters…. The sharp repartee and dramatic
finale make this a pleasant read.”
—Publishers Weekly
LORD OF DESIRE
“4 Stars!… fast-paced and brimming with biting, sexy repartee, and a sensual cat-and-mouse game.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Gloriously passionate… boldly sensual… Quinn deftly enhances her debut with just enough historical details to give a vivid
sense of time and place.”
—Booklist
“An emotional and compelling story that brings together a strong but wounded hero and spirited and determined heroine. The
characters quickly immerse the reader into their lives.”
—
RomanceJunkies.com
SOUTHERN SCOTTISH BORDERSPRING 1685
High atop Saint Christopher’s Abbey, Davina Montgomery stood alone in the bell tower, cloaked in the silence of a world she
did not know. Darkness had fallen hours ago and below her the sisters slept peacefully in their beds, thanks to the men who
had been sent here to guard them. But there was little peace for Davina. The vast, indigo sky filling her vision was littered
with stars that seemed close enough to touch should she reach out her hand. What would she wish for? Her haunted gaze slipped
southward toward England, and then with a longing just as powerful, toward the moonlit mountain peaks of the north. Which
life would she choose if the choice were hers to make? A world where she’d been forgotten, or one where no one knew her? She
smiled sadly against the wind that whipped her woolen novice robes around her. What good was it to ponder when her future
had already been decreed? She knew what was to come. There were no variations. That is, if she lived beyond the next year.
She looked away from the place she could never go and the person she could never be.
She heard the soft fall of footsteps behind her but did not turn. She knew who it was.
“Poor Edward. I imagine your heart must have failed you when you did not find me in my bed.”
When he remained quiet she felt sorry for teasing him about the seriousness of his duty. Captain Edward Asher had been sent
here to protect her four years ago, after Captain Geoffries had taken ill and was relieved of his command. Edward had become
more than her guardian. He was her dearest friend, someone she could confide in here within the thick walls that sheltered
her from the schemes of her enemies. Edward knew her fears and accepted her faults.
“I knew where to find you,” he finally said, his voice just above a whisper.
He always did know. Not that there were many places to look. Davina was not allowed to venture outside the Abbey gates so
she came to the bell tower often to let her thoughts roam free.
“My lady—”
She turned at his soft call, putting away her dreams and desires behind a tender smile. Those she kept to herself and did
not share, even with him.
“Please, I…” he began, meeting her gaze and then stumbling through the rest as if the face he looked upon every day still
struck him as hard as it had the first time he’d seen her. He was in love with her, and though he’d never spoken his heart
openly, he did not conceal how he felt. Everything was there in his eyes, his deeds, his devotion; and a deep regret that
Davina suspected had more to do with her than he would ever have the boldness to admit. Her path had been charted for another
course and she could never be his. “Lady Montgomery, come away from here, I beg you. It is not good to be alone.”
He worried for her so and she wished he wouldn’t. “I’m not alone, Edward,” she reassured. If her life remained as it was now,
she would find a way to be happy. She always did. “I have been given much.”
“It’s true,” he agreed, moving closer to her and then stopping himself, knowing what she knew. “You have been taught to fear
the Lord and love your king. The sisters love you, as do my men. It will always be so. We are your family. But it is not enough.”
He knew she would never admit it, so he said it for her.
It had to be enough. It was safer this way, cloistered away from those who would harm her if ever they discovered her after
the appointed time.
That time had come.
Davina knew that Edward would do anything to save her. He told her often, each time he warned her of her peril. Diligently,
he taught her to trust no one, not even those who claimed to love her. His lessons often left her feeling a bit hopeless,
though she never told him that, either.
“Would that I could slay your enemies,” he swore to her now, “and your fears along with them.”
He meant to comfort her, but good heavens, she didn’t want to discuss the future on such a breathtaking night. “Thanks to
you and God,” she said, leaving the wall to go to him and tossing him a playful smile, “I can slay them myself.”
“I agree,” he surrendered, his good mood restored by the time she reached him. “You’ve learned your lessons in defense well.”
She rested her hand on his arm and gave it a soft pat. “How could I disappoint you when you risked the Abbess’s consternation
to teach me?”
He laughed with her, both of them comfortable in their familiarity. But too soon he grew serious again.
“James is to be crowned in less than a se’nnight.”
“I know.” Davina nodded and turned toward England again. She refused to let her fears control her. “Mayhap,” she said with
a bit of defiance sparking her doleful gaze, “we should attend the coronation, Edward. Who would think to look for me at Westminster?”
“My lady…” He reached for her. “We cannot. You know—”
“I jest, dear friend.” She angled her head to speak to him over her shoulder, carefully cloaking the struggle that weighed
heaviest upon her heart, a struggle that had nothing to do with fear. “Really, Edward, must we speak of this?”
“Yes, I think we should,” he answered earnestly, then went on swiftly, before she could argue, “I’ve asked the Abbess if we
can move you to Courlochcraig Abbey in Ayr. I’ve already sent word to—”
“Absolutely not,” she stopped him. “I will not leave my home. Besides, we have no reason to believe that my enemies know of
me at all.”
“Just for a year or two. Until we’re certain—”
“No,” she told him again, this time turning to face him fully. “Edward, would you have us leave the sisters here alone to
face our enemies should they come seeking me? What defense would they have without the strong arms of you and your men? They
will not leave St. Christopher’s, nor will I.”
He sighed and shook his head at her. “I cannot argue when you prove yourself more courageous than I. I pray I do not live
to regret it. Very well, then.” The lines of his handsome face relaxed. “I shall do as you ask. For now though,” he added,
offering her his arm, “allow me to escort you to your chamber. The hour is late and the Reverend Mother will show you no mercy
when the cock crows.”
Davina rested one hand in the crook of his arm and waved away his concern with the other. “I don’t mind waking with the sun.”
“Why would you,” he replied, his voice as light now as hers as he led her out of the belfry, “when you can just fall back
to sleep in the Study Hall.”
“It was only the one time that I actually slept,” she defended, slapping his arm softly. “And don’t you have more important
things to do with your day than follow me around?”
“Three times,” he corrected, ignoring the frown he knew was false. “Once, you even snored.”
Her eyes, as they descended the stairs, were as wide as her mouth. “I have never snored in my life!”
“Save for that one time, then?”
She looked about to deny his charge again, but bit her curling lip instead. “And once during Sister Bernadette’s piano recital.
I had penance for a week. Do you remember?”
“How could I forget?” he laughed. “My men did no chores the entire time, preferring to listen at your door while you spoke
aloud to God about everything but your transgression.”
“God already knew why I fell asleep,” she explained, smiling at his grin. “I did not wish to speak poorly of Sister Bernadette’s
talent, or lack of it, even in my own defense.”
His laughter faded, leaving only a smile that looked to be painful as their walk ended and they stood at her door. When he
reached out to take her hand, Davina did her best not to let the surprise in her eyes dissuade him from touching her. “Forgive
my boldness, but there is something I must tell you. Something I should have told you long ago.”
“Of course, Edward,” she said softly, keeping her hand in his. “You know you may always speak freely to me.”
“First, I would have you know that you have come to mean—”
“Captain!”
Davina leaned over the stairwell to see Harry Barns, Edward’s second in command, plunge through the Abbey doors. “Captain!”
Harry shouted up at them, his face pale and his breath heavy from running. “They are coming!”
For one paralyzing moment, Davina doubted the good of her ears. She’d been warned of this day for four years, but had always
prayed it would not come. “Edward,” she asked hollowly, on the verge of sheer panic, “how did they find us so soon after King
Charles’s death?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth as if he too refused to believe what he was hearing. But there
was no time for doubt. Spinning on his heel, he gripped her arm and hauled her into her room. “Stay here! Lock your door!”
“What good will that do us?” She sprang for her quiver and bow and headed back to the door, and to Edward blocking it. “Please,
dear friend. I do not want to cower alone in my room. I will fire from the bell tower until it is no longer safe to do so.”
“Captain!” Barns raced up the stairs, taking three at a time. “We need to prepare. Now!”
“Edward”—Davina’s voice pulled him back to her—“you trained me for this. We need every arm available. You will not stop me
from fighting for my home.”
“Orders, Captain, please!”
Davina looked back once as she raced toward the narrow steps leading back to the tower.
“Harry!” She heard Edward shout behind her. “Prepare the vats and boil the tar. I want every man alert and ready at my command.
And Harry…”
“Captain?”
“Wake the sisters and tell them to pray.”
In the early morning hours that passed after the massacre at St. Christopher’s, Edward’s men had managed to kill half of the
enemy’s army. But the Abbey’s losses were greater. Far greater.
Alone in the bell tower, Davina stared down at the bodies strewn across the large courtyard. The stench of burning tar and
seared flesh stung her nostrils and burned her eyes as she set them beyond the gates to the meadow where men on horseback
still hacked away at each other as if their hatred could never be satisfied. But there was no hatred. They fought because
of her, though none of them knew her. But she knew them. Her dreams had been plagued with her faceless assassins since the
day Edward had first told her of them.
Tears brought on by the pungent air slipped down her cheeks, falling far below to where her friends… her family lay dead or
dying. Dragging her palm across her eyes, she searched the bodies for Edward. He’d returned to her an hour after the fighting
had begun and ordered her into the chapel with the sisters. When she’d refused, he’d tossed her over his shoulder like a sack
of grain and brought her there himself. But she did not remain hidden. She couldn’t, so she’d returned to the tower and her
bow and sent more than a dozen of her enemies to meet their Maker. But there were too many—or mayhap God didn’t want the rest,
for they slew the men she ate with, laughed with, before her eyes.
She had feared this day for so long that it had become a part of her. She thought she had prepared. At least, for her own
death. But not for the Abbess’s. Not for Edward’s. How could anyone prepare to lose those they loved?
Despair ravaged her and for a moment she considered stepping over the wall. If she was dead they would stop. But she had prayed
for courage too many times to let God or Edward down now. Reaching into the quiver on her back, she plucked out an arrow,
cocked her bow, and closed one eye to aim.
Below her and out of her line of vision, a soldier garbed in military regalia not belonging to England crept along the chapel
wall with a torch clutched in one fist and a sword in the other.
A cool breeze, moist with the fallen rain, lifted a raven curl from Robert MacGregor’s forehead. Looking up, he glared at the
pewter clouds as if daring the heavens to open again. ’Twas bad enough he and his kin had to leave Camlochlin during a storm
that promised to tear auld Tamas MacKinnon’s roof off his bothy. Trekking across Scotland in the mud did not make the journey
any easier.
Rob was still unsure if he agreed with his father’s reasoning for leaving the clan to attend James of York’s coronation. What
did laws made by stately nobles, dressed in powdered wigs and ruffled collars, have to do with MacGregors? Only a handful
of them knew of the MacGregors of Skye, and none of them would dare venture into the mountains to enforce their laws, even
if they did. What fealty did his clan owe to an English king?
“Rebellion is not always necessary,” his father’s words invaded his troubled thoughts. “Protectin’ the clan must always come first.”
As firstborn and heir apparent to Callum MacGregor’s title as Clan Chief of the MacGregors of Skye, Rob had been taught to
understand his father’s ways of thinking. He knew that civilly showing their support to the new king was the intelligent thing
to do. For as much as he cared nothing about politics so far south, there were many in Parliament who believed the Highland
ways of life, with a Chief having sole authority over his clan, were outdated and should be abolished. If kissing the king’s
arse would keep his clan safe and intact, then Rob would do it.
He didn’t care if his father was chief or if he was. He’d taken on every responsibility as a leader, and more. He tilled the
land, herded and sheared the sheep, repaired falling rooftops and, more times than not, denied his physical pleasure for hard
work. He made decisions for his kin’s welfare alongside his father and honed his swordplay diligently and by his own choice,
knowing that any weakness of body or will could destroy what belonged to him. And it had been in his blood for generations
never to allow that to happen.
But it still angered him that he should have to leave his clan to kiss the arses of men who would likely shyt in their breeches
on any kind of battlefield.
“Tell me again why ye insisted on takin’ this route, Will?” Rob asked his cousin, and yanked on his reins to steer his mount
away from a muddy trench in his path. They had left their main troupe on a road just before the English border. The detour
was Will’s idea, and Rob was beginning to question why he’d listened to him, or why he’d agreed to let anyone else come with
them.
“St. Christopher’s Abbey,” Will called out over his shoulder. “I told ye, Sister Margaret Mary lives there.”
“Who the hell is Sister Margaret Mary?” Angus MacGregor growled, rubbing the small of his back. “And why does a daughter o’
the Lord interest a black heart like yers?”
“She was m’ nursemaid fer six years after m’ mother died.”
“I think I’ve heard Tristan speak of her,” Colin, Rob’s youngest brother, joined in thoughtfully, managing to steer his mount
around a mossy incline without incident. Rob was torn between being thankful that his brother Tristan hadn’t come with them—mostly
for the sisters of St. Christopher’s sake—and being angry with himself for letting Colin come along. Clearly, Will had no
notion of where the hell the Abbey was. He was leading them deeper into the hills. A band of outlaws could attack them from
almost any direction unseen. Not that Rob fretted overmuch about a fight, or Colin’s ability to come out of one unharmed.
He just preferred that if there was a skirmish of some sort, his youngest brother not be there.
“Do the sisters in England pray as much as the ones in Scotland do?”
“We’re no’ in England yet,” Rob murmured impatiently, glancing at Finlay Grant from over his shoulder. The lad looked stricken
for a moment, as if he had just proven himself lacking in the eyes of his leader. Hell, what would he do with Finn if they
were attacked? The lad could fight well enough, but he’d always shown more interest in playing the pipes and reciting tales
of past heroes than in swordplay. Every laird had a bard, and Finn was determined to become Rob’s. As irritating as it sometimes
was to have the lad always underfoot, watching what he did and what he said in the event that some heroic deed he performed
needed retelling, Rob was fond of Graham and Claire Grant’s youngest son. He was a respectful lad with a curious nature, and
since he wasn’t the source of Rob’s frustration, he should not bear the brunt of it. “And nae,” Rob told him in a milder tone,
“Scottish nuns pray more.”
“I dinna care if her knees have worn straight through her robes,” Angus grumbled, reaching for a pouch of brew hidden in his
plaid. “If she brought Will and Tristan into this world, I have nae desire to be meetin’ her.”
“Hush, Angus.” Rob held up his hand to silence the older warrior. “D’ye hear that?”
His companions remained quiet for a moment, listening. “Sounds like the clash o’ swords,” Angus said, his hand falling immediately
to his hilt. “And that odor—That’s flesh burnin’.”
“The Abbey!” Will’s face went pale as he whirled his mount left and dug his heels into the beast’s flanks. He disappeared
over the crest of a small rise before Rob could stop him.
Swearing an oath that his cousin and closest friend was someday going to get himself and everyone around him killed by rushing
headlong into the unknown, Rob raced forward to follow, warning the younger lads to stay behind.
Rob and Angus stopped just beyond the crest, where Will had also halted his horse and stared with both shock and horror at
the scene before him. When Colin and Finn reached them, Rob swore violently at his brother for disobeying him, but his gaze
was already being pulled back to the small convent nestled within the fold of low hills.
The Abbey was under attack. By the looks of it, the siege had been going on for more than a few hours. Hundreds of dead bodies
littered the ground. Only a handful of what looked to have been two separate armies remained while ribbons of black smoke
plumed the air, the residue of burning tar. The left wing of the structure was completely engulfed in flames.
“Dear God, who would do this?”
Will did not bother answering Finn’s haunted plea, but snatched free his bow and yanked an arrow from his quiver.
“Will, nae!” Rob stopped him. “’Tis no’ our fight. I’ll no’ bring whoever did this doun on our clan! No’ for those who have
already per—”
The remainder of his words was cut short by a searing jolt of pain in his left shoulder and the whistle of two of Will’s arrows
slicing the air in the next instant. Stunned, Rob looked down at the thin shaft of wood jutting out of his flesh. He’d been
hit! Son of a… Fighting a wave of nausea, he closed his fingers around the arrow and broke off the feathered end sticking
out from his plaid. Setting his murderous gaze on the skirmish, he clutched the broken arrow in one fist and dragged his claymore
from its sheath with the other.
“Now, ’tis our fight. Colin,” he growled before he charged his mount forward. “Ye and Finn take cover or I’ll set ye both
on yer arses fer a fortnight.”
Finn nodded dutifully, but Colin grew angry. “Rob, I can fight. I want to fight.”
“No’ today,” Rob warned, his jaw rigid with fury about to be unleashed. This time Colin obeyed.
Rob had fought in raids before. He’d even killed a few Fergussons, but this was the kind of fighting that flowed through his
veins, what he had been trained to do by his father. Protect himself and those in his care at any cost. He didn’t care who’d
shot him. They were all going to pay for it. Reaching the dwindling melee, he brought his sword down with savage satisfaction,
killing swiftly, while Will and Angus fought a few feet away. He was about to strike again when his would-be target screamed
out at him.
“Hold, Scot! Hold for the mercy of God!” For the space of a breath, the man withered in his saddle staring into Rob’s eyes,
and then at the bloody sword above his head. He spoke quickly, gathering what strength of will he had left. “I am Captain
Edward Asher of the King’s Royal army. We were attacked just before dawn. I am not your enemy.”
Rob quickly looked the man over. His dark hair was wet with blood and sweat that dripped over his brow, creating streaks down
his dirty face. His garment was also bloodied, but belonging to the king’s regiment.
His fury at being shot still unabated, Rob began to turn his mount to cut down someone else.
“Wait.” The captain reached for Rob’s arm to stop him. “You are a Highlander. Why are you here? Has someone sent you?”
“Ye ask many questions rather than be grateful that here is where I am.”
“You have my thanks for your aid.”
Rob nodded. “Behind ye.”
Captain Asher spun on his horse and barely managed to avoid a blow to his head that would have killed him.
Taking a moment to assure that no other enemy soldiers were in fighting distance, Rob watched with a look of bland interest
while the captain felled his attacker to the ground.
“I owe you my life,” Asher said, panting.
“Right. Are we done here? There are more comin’.”
Asher’s shoulders sagged heavily as if he’d had enough and knew his fate. He didn’t bo. . .
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